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KERR CAUGHT ROSE as her legs gave way under her once more.

Picking the woman up, he carried her toward the cottage. She didn’t fight him now; she no longer saw him at all.

Shouldering the door open, he took her inside.

A lump of peat smoldered in the hearth, casting its golden glow over the dark space.

The single small window was open, allowing a stream of pale sunlight to filter in also.

The interior of the cottage was cluttered, the walls lined with shelves.

A sheepskin hanging, presumably leading through to the sleeping area, broke up the space, yet Kerr didn’t take Rose through.

Instead, he lowered her down on the pile of sheepskins in front of the glowing fire.

Ignoring him, she curled up in a ball, sobs tearing from her. Kerr knelt before her and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. However, it was pointless, Rose was lost in grief; he couldn’t reach her.

Maybe its for the best, since she thinks I’m Satan.

Aye, he knew she hated him, yet he remained there for a while, watching over her while she wept.

The winter had taken its toll on Rose, he noted.

She’d lost flesh. Her cheekbones were sharper than in the summer, and the kirtle was loose on her.

She looked achingly vulnerable curled up there, her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking.

She’d had an awful shock. There was no good way to deliver news like that. He’d steeled himself to do it the entire journey to the MacAlister farm—but when he’d finally stood before her, words had deserted him.

He hadn’t been surprised when she’d accused him of killing her father, although it had still stung all the same. Kerr’s jaw clenched then as he let himself think about what had happened in that gorge.

They’d been three-quarters of the way through it—riding in twos along the narrow road, driving the cattle before them—when a deep rumble shattered the peace of the morning.

He’d glanced up to see dust rising from the rocky hillside above.

An instant later, the first of the boulders hurtled toward them.

He hadn’t told Rose, but those heavy rocks had caused carnage, killing three MacDonalds and their horses.

Kerr and his men, who’d been in the lead, just escaped being flattened, as did Duncan MacDonald and his sons. If MacAlister had been planning on killing his nemesis, he failed.

The skirmish that had followed was quick yet bloody.

Kerr would never tell Rose how desperate her father was, as he slashed clumsily, his dirk clenched in his left hand. Roaring curses, Graham had run at them—and when he realized the fight was lost, he’d thrown himself on Duncan’s blade.

In the end, all eight would-be cattle thieves lay dead at the bottom of the gorge, their blood soaking into the dirt. Meanwhile, the bellows of frightened cattle, and Duncan MacDonald’s enraged cursing, echoed around them.

A scraping sound drew Kerr’s attention then, and he looked away from Rose to see movement on the ledge next to the window.

A large eagle owl perched there. The bird was beautiful, with speckled brown feathers and faintly comical ear tufts.

It blinked drowsily, moving forward, its claws scraping across stone.

The bird had clearly been sleeping when they entered, yet Rose’s weeping had awoken it.

The owl then cocked its head, its dark-golden eyes fixing upon him.

Kerr could almost imagine it was concerned about Rose.

“She’ll be fine … in a while,” he murmured. “Although she needs someone to watch over her.”

The bird continued to stare at him, unblinking.

Sighing, Kerr rose to his feet, his gaze returning to Rose. He didn’t want to leave her like this, yet he was expected back at Dun Ugadale. The MacDonalds were in an uproar right now.

He needed to find someone to stay with Rose, to help while her grief ran its course. To his knowledge, the only kin she had remaining was a reclusive aunt. If he remembered correctly, the woman lived west of the broch, deep within the Red Deer Hills.

He’d fetch her.

Kerr glanced over at the owl once more to find it still watching him with disconcerting focus. “Look after her,” he said softly. “I’ll be back with help soon.”

“Sit up lass, I’ve got some hot broth for ye.”

Kenna’s soft voice roused Rose from her misery. Opening her eyes, she pushed herself up into a sitting position. Her stiff limbs protested, and her head throbbed. Lord, she felt terrible. How long had she been curled up on these sheepskins, weeping?

It felt like forever.

She vaguely remembered Kerr Mackay bringing her in here and laying her down.

She also recalled the rumble of his voice, although she couldn’t remember what he’d said.

She supposed she should be embarrassed about losing control like that around him, yet she was too drained now to care.

Mackay had left eventually, and the silence had pressed in, making her sorrow even keener.

But then, a while after he departed—she wasn’t sure how long—her aunt arrived.

Kenna held her close and stroked her hair, and eventually, the storm had passed.

In the aftermath, Rose felt weak, as if she’d just emerged from a fever.

Sitting in silence, she watched her aunt ladle out a cup of broth from the pot steaming over the fire. Her belly growled then. “How long has it been?” she asked. The question came out in a croak, and Kenna’s heart-shaped face creased into a gentle smile as she handed over the cup.

“Just a day. Here … ye’ll feel better after ye’ve had this.”

Wrapping her hands around the wooden cup, Rose took a sip of the hot broth. It was delicious, for her aunt had made it with pork bones. A rare treat these days.

“Thank ye,” she murmured. “It’s kind of ye to come to me so quickly.”

“I wouldn’t have known what had happened if Captain Mackay hadn’t ridden to fetch me,” her aunt replied with a rueful shake of her head. “He was worried about ye.”

Heat flushed over Rose, and she dropped her gaze to her cup of broth. Of course, her aunt didn’t know that she couldn’t stand the man.

God’s bones, he was like a bad penny, always turning up when things went ill. Was it any surprise he’d been the one to tell her of her father and brothers’ fate?

Moments slid by, and when Rose glanced up, Kenna was settling herself onto a stool near the fire. Her green eyes, so like her brother’s, guttered. “I’m sorry, Rose … it’s a terrible thing.”

“Aye,” Rose whispered, her chest constricting. Part of her couldn’t believe her father and brothers were dead. She half-expected them to throw open the door to the cottage and walk in, their rough voices shattering the peace.

But they wouldn’t. Never again.

Swallowing more broth, she steeled herself to ask the question she dreaded. “Where are they?”

Kenna’s face tightened, and she brushed a lock of red-brown hair streaked with grey off her forehead. “At Dun Ugadale broch. The laird has agreed to keep them there for the moment … until the burial.”

Rose approached the kirk. A crisp wind tugged at her skirts and the woolen shawl she’d wrapped around her shoulders. She did her best to ignore the cold, her gaze remaining fixed upon the steepled roof of the stone kirk piercing the sky.

Her body ached from grief, and her throat and eyes were raw from weeping—but she had a burial to organize.

Rose found Father Gregor indoors. He was praying before the altar, head bowed. Inhaling the musky scent of incense, she halted behind him. If he’d heard her approach and the whisper of the door closing, he gave no sign.

Rose waited for a short while before clearing her throat. “Father Gregor.”

The priest straightened up, his gaze flicking her way. “Rose MacAlister,” he murmured. “I was wondering when ye would pay me a visit.”

Rose wilted a little under the intensity of those peat-brown eyes. “Ye will have heard what happened?” she asked huskily.

He nodded, his gaze narrowing.

“I wish to bury my father and brothers tomorrow.”

Father Gregor rose smoothly to his feet and dusted off his robes. “Ye can bury them when ye wish,” he said coolly. “Just not on holy ground.”

Rose’s heart jolted against her breastbone. “What?”

The priest’s mouth pursed. “I will not allow criminals to be buried alongside Godfearing folk.”

“My father and brothers were part of this congregation,” she choked out as grief and anger battled for dominance. “Baptized like everyone else.”

“Maybe … but they all strayed from the path.”

Rose swallowed as bile stung the back of her throat. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and her legs trembled slightly. She couldn’t believe the priest was denying her family this. When she finally spoke, her voice was hoarse, pleading. “Didn’t Jesus himself preach compassion and forgiveness?”

“Aye.”

“Well then, why won’t ye show some to my family?”

His dark eyes hardened. “Do ye defend their behavior, Rose?”

She shook her head. Of course, she didn’t. When Kerr told her what they’d done, she’d been horrified. She’d later learned that three MacDonalds had died in the rockfall. She was deeply ashamed of her father’s act. “Never,” she gasped. “But to refuse them a Christian burial is cruel indeed.”

Father Gregor approached her then, his robes whispering as he moved. He stopped when they were just a couple of feet apart. His closeness was unnerving and deliberately intimidating. However, they were of a similar height, so she didn’t need to raise her chin to hold his gaze.

“An eye for an eye, Rose,” he murmured, his mouth lifting into a humorless smile. “And yet … I could be swayed to change my mind.”

She tensed, fighting the urge to step back and widen the gap between them. “Ye could?”

“Aye, lass.” He reached out, stroking her hair. He entwined a lock between his long fingers, tugging gently. His gaze softened then, his lips parting. “Although my generosity will come at a price.”

Rose froze. She knew without asking exactly what he wanted.

Trembling now, she stepped back so he was forced to let go of her hair. “Something tells me yer price will be too high, Father ,” she replied, not hiding the anger and disgust in her voice.

In an instant, the softness in his eyes vanished. “Then there will be no Christian burial,” he ground out. “Yer father and brothers will burn in hell.”

In the end, she buried her father, Knox, and Clyde on the eastern side of the glen, where they’d lived and farmed all their lives.

Ailis and Eara joined Kenna and Rose, and together, the women dug three graves. They then wrapped the men in sheepskins and lay them inside, covering them with soil and piles of stones, creating three small cairns on the hillside.

It was hard work, yet the morning was cold and damp, which helped cool the sweat on their brows. And when they were done, Ailis whispered a prayer for the dead.

Head bent, Rose was surprised to find she was dry-eyed.

She’d wept a loch of tears over the last two days and digging the graves had helped get rid of the rage and grief that still boiled inside her.

When she’d told Kenna and Ailis that Father Gregor had denied her menfolk a proper burial before trying to blackmail her into lying with him, they’d both been furious.

“A wolf in sheep’s clothing indeed,” Kenna growled. “How dare he?”

“Oh, he dared,” Rose had replied.

“Be careful with the priest in the future,” Ailis had warned, worry shadowing her hazel eyes. Small with curly dark hair and an impish face, Ailis had been uncharacteristically grim as she met Rose’s gaze. “He’ll have an ax to grind against ye now.”

Rose had nodded. It was best she stop attending the Sunday mass for a while.

The women fell silent as they remained before the cairns, listening to the cry of kites wheeling above and the whine of the wind. Then Rose stepped forward and placed a hand on the stones of her father’s cairn. “At least he’ll be at peace now,” she murmured.

“At last,” Eara said, sadness tinging her voice. “Yer Da was a tormented man.”

“Aye,” her aunt murmured. “Especially toward the end.” She paused then. “He was happy once though … when he first wed yer mother, Graham was always smiling.”

Rose glanced Kenna’s way to see the grief etched upon her aunt’s proud face.

The siblings might have been estranged, yet Kenna had loved her brother, all the same.

And now she’d never have the chance to mend things with him—just as Rose hadn’t been able to say goodbye to her father and brothers.

Knox and Clyde were wastrels, yet their lives had been cut tragically short. It was such a waste.

“What will ye do now?” Ailis asked then.

“Sell Da’s sheep,” Rose announced firmly. Sorrow had consumed her over the past days, yet she had to be practical. “That should give me enough to live on for a while. I will also start weaving more baskets to sell at the village market.”

“Ye can always come and live with us.” Kenna offered gently. “We’d welcome yer company.”

Rose’s chest started to ache. Kenna and Ailis’s cottage was a tiny one, yet they wouldn’t hesitate to share it with her. However, just like Eara, Rose was proud and independent. “I appreciate yer kind offer, auntie,” she replied huskily. “But I will find a way through this.”